And Then There Were Four
by Ovelia
Summary: The lives of four people intersect in the horror that is Raccoon City. Charles Dehn, recently laid off from his factory job. Frances Stuart, timid teenage heiress. Diane Villiers, an intrepid reporter on a quest for the truth that may find her quenching the thirst of the monsters that surround her. And Jay Able, unlucky photographer. Disclaimer: One of my first stories.
1. Prologue

The halls were empty, devoid of all life, still as the ocean, until suddenly a bell rang out and students emptied into the halls, among them heiress Frances Stuart in her white summer dress and flats of the same color. As usual she would have to rush to her locker, grab her Calculus book, and hurry to the other side of the school so that she could make it to class on time. She was almost to her locker, when suddenly her friend Ella Birch grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side of the hall.

"Frances, you know how we have that huge test today in Physics?" Ella asked quickly, a small smile playing about her lips as she found humor in everything.

"Yeah, it's the open book test Ms. Lee is giving." Before Ella could respond, Frances started to turn around. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late, Ella."

Ella gripped her arm and turned her around. "Sammy drove me to school today so I don't have my car with me… and I forgot my book. Please, please Frances, drive me home to get it and then let's come back. It won't take but twenty minutes. BFFE, right?"

Frances pursed her lips and reluctantly nodded. They were friends; Ella would skip a funeral for her, so Frances had to miss half of Calculus and come back to school. No big deal. "Alright, but lets hurry."

* * *

"Soap opera, soap opera, game show, soap opera, soap opera, game show..." sighed Charles Dehn, clicking the TV off. Ever since he'd been fired last week he'd sat at home bored out of his mind, wanting to get back to work but never having the will to get up and find something. He'd been exercising and taking care of his small apartment, much neglected until he was fired. Since that got old fast, he'd head down to J's Bar and flirt with the pretty blonde waitress, but she didn't really pay any attention. 

But it was getting dull, all becoming a pattern. Sitting in his cramped living room, he decided he'd had enough. He'd pick the habit he'd had some time ago back up; shooting. Only problem was if he didn't get enjoyment out of that he'd end up shooting _himself_. So he changed out of his pajamas, put on a white tee, blue jeans, and steel-toe boots, then headed down to his car.

When he stepped outside, he noticed how crisp and empty it was outside. Then again, it was late September and most kids were at school. Even if they were at home though, they'd be inside, considering the cannibal murders. Naturally, since he was thinking of something creepy and strange, his neighbor had picked the wrong time to come up behind him.

Thirty-nine year old James Parker lived in the apartment directly below Charles with his wife and two kids, and led the typical life. Naturally he wasn't expecting Charles to raise his fist and nearly hit him. "Charles!" James shouted, causing the fist to stop just short of his face.

"Sorry," Charles muttered, his tanned face actually turning red.

"Its okay, Blondie," James said, using Charles' nickname with a grin. It quickly faded. "I just thought I'd share the bad news that a jogger was killed today, another cannibal murder. Take a look at this." James handed Charles a newspaper that read "Once Again, a Jogger Killed."

* * *

"Once again, a jogger killed," Diane read to her editor. "That's not an awful title, it's a blunt one. Besides, the title's not that important when you read the article." 

"Villiers, it is important, the title catches the reader's eye. And I admit anything to do with the cannibal murders will attract readers, but the bigger picture is you need to get creative. Not all of your articles are going to be about cannibals." The editor finished and sighed, sipping from his coffee before walking away. He was short and stout, with a balding head and a raspy voice.

It was quite a contrast to Diane Villiers, a brunette with curly hair and beautiful blue eyes, a fair complexion, and at 5'3 a petite twenty-four year old woman; however she liked to measure her intelligence before her beauty. She had written about the cannibal murders with zeal, not even doing anything else. Even if she wasn't a household name, everyone read her articles and talked about them over morning coffee or the midday lunch. She'd not dated since she joined the paper three years previously; her devotion was to her work.

She had yet another article to work on; she was going to go to Umbrella and ask them how they planned to deal with what could become an economic crisis for Raccoon if the murders didn't cease. Some people feared to leave their houses now; if it got worse, what would happen? She meant to find out.

"Tom, I'm going to go to the Umbrella offices and ask them a few questions. If someone calls at my desk, take a message for me, alright?" She didn't wait to hear his answer; she left the office andslipped into her car.

* * *

I own only Charles, Diane, Frances, and the minor characters of this work of fiction. Umbrella and all other Resident Evil things belong to Capcom.

This was the prologue, and I hope to have more chapters up very soon - in them we will meet Jay Able, a down on his luck photographer, and of course, we will meet zombies and other assorted monsters. I hope you enjoyed, and don't hesitate to review.


	2. Enter the Horror

Jay Able wasn't the most optimistic guy in the world, and with good reason. In the past two years he'd lost both parents, been divorced, and broken no less than three bones in freak accidents. So when he got the call that he was being asked to photograph the Spencer estate ruins – the first time they were going to be legally photographed – he actually thought his luck wasn't so bad after all.

As for the divorce, he was a good looking single guy now, and at twenty-nine he was in his prime. Things were definitely looking up, and even the low gas hand as he pulled out of his drive way wasn't as much of a frustration as it used to be. Neither was the odd looking dog in the road with the red eyes and nasty fur; until it stood there glaring at him, causing him to begin beating his horn in frustration. Finally after a long moment it darted off the road and out of sight.

Now he was out of gas, but luckily the road wasn't too crowded, the occasional driver passing by to and fro from work. With an audible curse, Jay got out of the jeep and began to steer it to the side of the road and out of the way, when he heard a car coming. A quick look revealed a sleek convertible and two teenage girls inside and he tried to flag them down. They ignored him and went on.

As they passed the man motioning for them to pull over, Ella stifled a laugh, "Poor guy. He probably thinks we're complete jerks."

"We don't exactly have the time to pull over. Someone will stop and help him eventually. Anyway," Frances said, changing the subject, "Is your mom at home?"

"Yeah, she wasn't feeling too hot this morning so she decided to stay home and rest," Ella replied. "Are Mr. Rich and Ms. Beautiful still abroad?"

Frances slowed down a bit and sighed. Comments alluding to her parent's social status bothered her, even though they were true. Frances was an only child, born when her father was thirty-nine and her mother was thirty-one, after they conceived and lost a child two years before she was born. Her mother Elisabeth was a French model and her father Francis a rich business tycoon.

"They're in Monaco right now, but should be back in three days. My mom is visiting her dad there, while my dad works out a business deal. So I'm alone a few days." Frances tried to act like she didn't mind, and turned her attention back to driving casually. "We're here."

They pulled up to the quaint suburban home, and sat there in silence a moment. Finally, Ella turned to her, "Frances, if you need to talk about something don't hesitate. Just do."

Frances looked at her, and nodded. "Thanks, Ella. But you'd better get inside and get your book, before we miss _another_ class." Ella smiled and nodded, running into her house. Five minutes passed then ten, then fifteen. Frances sighed and shut the car off, stepping out and shutting the door.

When she got to the door, she didn't bother to knock. She had been told to come and go freely years ago, and she meant to do that now. Why would Ella take fifteen minutes to get a book, without coming out and telling her? It wasn't like her.

As Frances entered the house, she was struck by the smell of rotting fruit, compared to the fresh smell of flowers usually associated with Ella's home. As she stood in the laundry room of the house, Frances felt her heart rate increase; something she dismissed as ridiculous and childish. The simple explanation was that Ella couldn't find her book, naturally.

She moved out of the laundry room slowly, opening the door to the kitchen carefully. It was empty, save the usual appliances and a red stain on the beige wall. "Blood!" Frances gasped aloud, and in return she heard a moan just beyond the kitchen door. "Ella? Ella, can you hear me!" No reply.

Frances was frightened now, but forced herself to go on. What if Ella or her mother were hurt? If she left she could leave them to die. Frances kept seeing the image of Ella getting out of the car, cheerfully running inside. _God, _Frances prayed, _let her be safe!_

She was at the door now, and put her hand on the knob, only to pull it back seconds later. Blood. Frances screamed and on instinct wiped it on her white dress in an instant, smearing it with the red substance. There was no question of Frances opening the door now. She turned quickly, scanning the room for a phone. There was a phone mounted on the wall, and she picked it up quickly, frantically dialing 911. Only when she put it to her ear did she realize there was no signal. Just the mechanical bleat over and over, no operator or forwarding machine.

Frances' only choice was to go on so she grabbed a paper towel and moved back to the door, taking a deep breath. She wrapped the towel around the sticky knob, and turned it hesitantly. The door opened.

She was now in a narrow hall, with two doors on both sides and a closet at the end of the hall. The most significant thing she noticed, however, was the woman crouched over something in the corner, her hair mattered and slick with what appeared to be grease. "Miss Birch?" Frances asked quietly as she made her way to the woman. There was no reply.

Each step felt like it took an hour, and by the time Frances finally reached Ella's mother, she felt like she was weighed down by a great burden – stress. All that went away, however, when she saw just what it was that Miss Birch was crouched over; stress was replaced by fear.

Ella was lying like a rag doll on the ground, her eyes open in an everlasting fear. Half of her face was missing, the other half obscured by her hair that was matted in blood. Worst of all, her abdomen was exposed; a bloody mess that had bite marks all over it. Frances froze in horror, unable to move for a few moments until her mind registered that Miss Birch was turning to her, blood dripping from her mouth. Worst of all, her eyes were white; a zombie.

Frances stumbled back, knowing her attempts to subdue Miss Birch were futile even as she spoke them, "Miss Birch, I'm just going to leave and get help…" One last look at Ella and Frances was running out the door, slamming it behind her. She didn't remember much; the blur of the kitchen and the yard, then jumping into her car and pulling out quickly.

Only to be hit by a black car.

Charles had been driving towards the gun shop when all of the sudden a convertible pulled out from a suburban home. He swerved, trying to avoid it; but he only managed to hit the back of the convertible, sending it swerving a few feet on the road, but mainly undamaged. With a groan he exited the car.

There was a girl that couldn't be out of her teens sitting in the car, just staring straight ahead in shock. _Must be her first wreck_, Charles thought as he made his way over, sympathy overcoming his initial anger. But why wasn't she in school? It was only fifteen past two.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked as he got to the car, and in return the car door flew open and she jumped in his arms sobbing, her head on his shoulder. Charles was puzzled; he wasn't expecting _that _kind of reaction.

"It's alright, it happens," Charles tried to soothe her, patting her back and finally prying her off of him. That's when he noticed the blood smeared across her white dress, the blood ending where the dress ended at the knees. She continued to sob, and Charles looked from her to the house where she'd exited. In his alarmed state, he also noticed they'd not been passed by a single car, and he hadn't passed one on his way from the apartments.

Charles knew he wouldn't get any answers from the hysterical girl, so he looked to the house again. It seemed to be the only option; someone could be hurt inside that needed help. He turned to the girl again, shouldering her to his car and helping her inside. "Just stay in here, I'll be right out, okay?" He shut the door and made his way towards the house.

Diane had arrived at the Umbrella offices a little past two o'clock, and was immediately struck by the dead look of the building. Larger than any building in the city, it was completely quiet and dark. When she'd walked to the main doors, which were made of glass, she saw that inside it was black. There was no closed sign, and when Diane pulled at the door she noticed it was locked. Their office hours extended past most businesses on other days, why were they closed so early now? It didn't make much sense, but nonetheless even Diane had to concede she wouldn't get any answers today.

Sighing, Diane turned to go back down the steps toward her car and was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't notice the man in front of her until it was too late. They collided, sending Diane falling onto the bottom steps and the man into the road. Diane quickly stood, apologizing incessantly. "I'm sorry sir, let me help you up."

She noticed the man stank of filth, and that he was having a hard time getting up. His skin was pale and slightly pink – like one might envision a corpse. "Sir?"

His reply was a moan and a lunge – and in the wide, open parking lot of a closed building they were the only ones around. Diane moved swiftly and the man fell to the steps; she looked back in horror and realized that he was covered in blood and matter, and that the putrid smell was that of a zombie.

In horror, Diane's mind began to register insane things – cannibals, zombies; they were one in the same. The S.T.A.R.S. hadn't lied and this wasn't a drunk walking about. Diane was frozen in terror, but in a moment she had regained her wits; she started to run for her car.


End file.
